


Redheaded Women

by norgbelulah



Category: Justified, True Blood
Genre: Biting, Dubious Consent, F/M, Mind Control, Vampire Sex, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-27
Updated: 2012-06-27
Packaged: 2017-11-08 16:59:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/445446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norgbelulah/pseuds/norgbelulah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Working late at Lindsey's bar, Raylan encounters a tall, skinny, redhead, who doesn't look like she belongs there.</p><p>He gets a little more than he bargained for when he asks to see her I.D.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Redheaded Women

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Round 2 of the Summer in Harlan Comment fic meme over at nvrleaveharlan on LJ.

Lindsey’s bar is swinging late on a Friday night and Raylan has the evening off, so he’s working the place, keeping an eye out. There’s a band on the tiny stage and even a few couples dancing on the floor in front of the bluesy quartet.

Raylan’s three drinks in and he’d started with a beer, so he’s about ready to head over toward the facilities. He nods at Lindsey who’s behind the bar with one of her other girls. She smiles at him and he wonders for a moment if they’re going to continue their post-closing intimate activities again this evening, as they’d been doing once or twice a week now for a while. 

Raylan could go either way at this point, and he’s fairly sure so could she. That’s the beauty of the arrangement, really. Simple, uncomplicated, no hurt feelings and pretty good sex off and on.

When he comes out of the bathroom, ready for another stroll around the place and then another bourbon, he spots a girl, a tall, stunning redhead in skinny heels and skinny clothes, loitering outside the bathrooms. She has big blue eyes, rimmed with dark make-up, like she’s trying to be older than she is.

She’s startled by his sudden appearance and for a moment, she looks all of sixteen. Then she smirks at his hat and her lips are real red and real crooked and it makes Raylan wonder. So, he smiles at her and says, “You waitin’ on somebody?”

She shakes her head. “Not really.” Her voice isn’t what he expects. Not because it doesn’t sound young, because it does, but because it’s not Kentucky, it’s further south. Raylan might peg it as Louisiana, but he wouldn’t bet on that, because she hasn’t really said much at all.

“You just like hanging out by the restrooms, then?”

She smiles, a little embarrassed, a lot young. She rolls her eyes, more at herself, he thinks, than his question, plays with the rings on her fingers. There’s three of them, all twisted up and linked together, like that magic trick, on the ring finger of her right hand. Not married then. No, she’s much too young to be married. “No,” she says uncertainly, “I was just...”

She obviously doesn’t have a real answer, so he just comes out and asks her, “Honey, how old are you?”

“Twenty-one,” she replies automatically, defensive. She might have had better luck with twenty-five and claiming people ask her all the time. “The guy checked my I.D. at the door,” she adds, but doesn’t produce it.

“Sometimes he makes mistakes,’ Raylan says, still friendly. “His math ain’t so good.” When she frowns at him, he says, “You know I’m the bouncer here, right?”

Her eyes get big really fast, but then something subtle changes about her. She stands up straighter, but her body’s more relaxed, and she’s looking at him funny. She takes a step towards him and he doesn’t like it, it’s weirdly threatening, but he meets her eyes--not willing to back down--and then he does like it, a lot, though he still takes a step back, his foot already in motion.

His hand had gone for his weapon when he got scared for a minute--though now he can’t remember why--and she takes her eyes from his, looking down at his badge. He shakes his head, wondering why his back’s pressed up against the wall, when she looks back up at him and her eyes are real blue and real big and he really likes looking at them.

She smiles at him and he smiles back tentatively before she asks, “What’s your name, Marshal?” And takes another step towards him.

“Raylan,” he says through his smile, like he’s seventeen, “Raylan Givens.”

“That’s a great name,” she says softly and puts her hand on his chest, just high enough to curl the tips of her fingers over his shoulder. She’s real close to him now, but she doesn’t feel warm--he does though, he feels real warm and her eyes are still real blue. She’s just a few inches shorter than him with her tall heels on so she’s looking up at him slightly and straight through him.

It takes Raylan a minute to realize he’s never wanted anyone more in his life, but he can’t move to touch her.

“Raylan,” she says, and it sounds like bells on her lips. She puts them real close to his, but still he’s paralyzed. He doesn’t want to move closer, doesn’t want to kiss her, but it’s all he’s thinking about.

“Yeah?”

“I’m twenty-one,” she tells him and he can’t imagine why he didn’t believe her before.

“Okay,” he says before she puts her lips on his and suddenly she’s up in his arms and their hands are all over each other and their teeth are knocking together and something sharp grazes his flesh. She pulls back because he hisses, involuntarily, and his eyes go wide because she has fangs. “Shit,” he curses.

“Raylan,” she says looking into him again, slipping a hand around the back of his neck, his own are still under her legs where she’s scrambled up on him. “It’s fine,” she tells him. “You’re fine with this.”

Right. Yes, of course it’s fine. Vampires. Totally fine. Nevermind the niggling in the back of his head, the training they’d all gone through when vampires came out with the TruBlood, about mind-control and super-speed and blood-drinking. Nope, he wasn’t going to mind that because this was fine. He was wonderfully, absolutely, fine and he wanted her. This redhaired girl who was twenty-one and somehow in his arms.

She kisses him again, and he helps. She’s still not warm and he knows why, but he’s fine with that, he’s warm enough for the both of them. His blood is pumping and her fingers are on his throat and he’s more than fine, he groans for her and she pulls away again.

“You live nearby?” she asks, breathy and words coming out sounding strange through those fangs. Fangs. Yes, that’s fine.

“I live upstairs.” He can’t imagine leaving a question of hers unanswered.

She laughs, but before she can say anything, Raylan hears his name coming out of some other mouth. He looks over, past this girl, and sees a blonde woman, dressed in black, staring at them in horror and concern and for a moment, she isn’t anyone he’s seen before. Then he blinks and he knows her and she’s terrified, but he doesn’t understand why. “Lindsey,” he says, trying to put some reassurance into it, but it’s just her name and he doesn’t have the thoughts to say anything else.

He looks at the girl again, just at her mouth, and she has fangs, but he’s fine with that, he remembers now, and she asks him, “This your girlfriend?”

“Raylan--” Lindsey cries, but it’s not like he isn’t going to answer.

“No,” he says. It’s the truth anyway. The girl smiles and presses up against him again, but he’s still looking at Lindsey and she seems to think something’s wrong. “Are you okay?” he asks her, and his own voice sounds strange to his ears, like it’s too slow, like he shouldn’t have said that.

“Fuck, Raylan,” she hisses, but the girl pushes off him now and whirls on Lindsey.

“Do not fuck this up for me,” the girl growls, almost petulantly. “I have had a really fucking terrible week and all I came here to do was get drunk with my friends on a road trip. But now, I am also going to climb this man like a goddamn tree and you are not. going. to get. in my. fucking. way.”

Lindsey’s eyes snap back to him and she’s crying, scared out of her mind as she tells him, “Raylan, I’m _sorry_ ,” and sprints back to the bar.

He frowns as she retreats, confused as hell, because it must be obvious that he’s fine.

The girl turns back to him and presses right back up against him and he’s hard and he wants her, Lindsey forgotten, as she tells him, “My name’s Jessica. Now, take me upstairs.”

Walking through the bar to the stairs is a blur of colors and faces. Jessica’s hand in his isn’t warm, it feels more like holding onto a mannequin’s hand molded to his skin, actually clutching his fingers, but Raylan smiles because he’s fine with that. He pulls her fast up the stairs and she’s on him again before they reach the bedroom.

He knows he’s smiling big and dopey, but he feels really good, like crazy good, and he’s searching for her eyes in the darkness. He hasn’t turned on any lights, though he usually does, but he only wants to do what she wants him to do and she seems to like the dark. He can see her teeth, though, white and sharp and he almost likes them now, almost wants to know how they feel. She moves through the darkness in a way that’s beautiful and he wants her to touch him again. He says her name and she laughs, delighted.

“You want me, Raylan,” she tells him. 

There are her eyes, darker without the light, still big, still--yes. “God, yes,” he groans and runs his hands up her torso, lifting up her slinky blue shirt. Now he’s never wanted anything more in his life, not even his daddy dead, not even Boyd in jail, not even Winona back. All he’s ever wanted is Jessica, because she said so.

“Take off all your clothes,” she orders and he complies, ripping at buttons and shucking off his pants as quick as lightning. His hat’s been tipped off somewhere, but he barely thinks about it, because she’s taking off her own clothes and she’s fucking gorgeous. Her lips and hair are all mussed up from their kissing and she looks debauched and still half-like a girl--but he knows she’s twenty-one.

She leans back on his bed, pressed up against the headboard, tits out and legs half-spread, and he’s standing at the foot, gazing at her like the fucking goddess that she is. She says, “Do everything that you want to me, Raylan.” And when he moves towards her, climbs up and across the sheets, she holds him back with powerful strength and another thought coming off her tongue, “But don’t come ‘til I tell you.”

He wouldn’t dream of such a thing, my God, he’s thinking as he licks every inch of her and knows the power of her because he’s so hard it hurts, but he’s not coming, of course not, and then all he can think of is eating her out. She tastes sweet and strange and so young, but cold, though her skin is warming just by his touch. 

She moans with every stroke of his tongue and he loves that sound, it’s like bells again, music and when she comes it’s with a majestic violence. She tears at his hair and near screams while he’s still going, riding it out, clenching her muscles, hurting his fucking jaw, but he’s still hard and he’s not coming and suddenly all he wants is inside her. She must have said something.

She pulls him up, rough, strong, and his mind is everywhere around her so she guides him in and whispers, “ _Fuck_ ,” in his ear and then that’s all he’s doing. She moves with him, syncs up just right and it’s exquisite, excruciating, because he’s not coming yet and that’s all he’s thinking about and he’s sweaty as fuck and she’s not. She’s glorious and wild-eyed and they’re so blue still and he wants to kiss her but her lips are at his throat. 

She pushes herself up, wraps her arms around him while he’s still pounding away at her, moaning mindlessly, everything tightly wound, almost to breaking. He thinks he says please.

Her lips are still at his neck, at the pulse point that’s pounding, pounding like him, rough and rhythmic, and she says, “Come now, Raylan,” right before she sinks her teeth into him.

He maybe screams, because it’s sharp and fast and big, expanding outwards, like he’s bursting apart, and then it contracts, like he’s being sucked away. Then everything gets kind of floaty and numb, like he’s come more than once, but no, she only said the one time and he was listening. Her mouth is still on his neck, her teeth stuck in him, which is something he’s fine with, and she’s holding him, like he can’t do it himself.

She’s draining him, though that’s fine, too. This is, always was, something he’s fine with. He feels good, floaty, and it doesn’t go away when she lets go of him. Sucking his blood off her teeth, like it’s impolite to show him. He smiles at her as she lays him down on the bed, because that’s sort of funny, vampire manners.

She smiles back and her teeth are clean, white again, and real pretty. The fangs are gone, even though they really were fine, and she’s looking at him like she’s not quite sure what to do now. He frowns at her, thinking about something, but not sure--

“You got a question, Raylan?” she asks him. It must have been on his face. Her hands are stretched out, clasped together in her lap, as she sits on the side of the bed, peering at him. She looks like a girl, but he knows she’s twenty-one.

“Is this love?” he asks. It doesn’t really feel like how it felt before, but it does feel big, too big, and real strange.

Her eyes grow wide at him and she leans over fast, meeting his eyes, and boy are hers fucking pretty. “ _No_ ,” she says and he’s pretty glad about that. She looks away for a minute and Raylan’s head spins, but then she looks back and there’s a certainty in her eyes that wasn’t there before. “I ain’t gonna show you the disrespect that comes with takin’ your memory of something like this, Marshal,” she tells him and she sounds older now than she ever has before. “But I want you to remember not just what I did, but how it felt, and that it was good for you, too. Maybe you won’t like that and maybe you will, but... don’t be _mad_ , okay?”

He smiles at her, because, how can he not? She’s so pretty, flushed with him and warm now, he can feel it coming off her in waves, and her eyes are so big and blue. He’s still feeling outside himself, hovering a foot above his body or something, because his words come slow and slurred when he tells her, “Okay, Jessica.”

She kisses him once more on the lips, then she’s gone in a flash and a flurry of clothes, though he hears her fast down the steps.

After she goes, his head clears a little, though everything seems dream-like, unreal, and he can barely move. He’s tired, drained, covered in his own sweat and come and maybe still a little high off the orgasm. She’d told him to come and he’d listened.

“Jesus,” he breathes.

He listens to the sounds of the bar die down, blinking slow and thinking about exactly what just happened to him. Some time later, he hears footsteps on the stairs again and he stiffens, then tells himself it’s just Lindsey. She’ll be worried.

Her eyes are still scared when she comes in. Raylan had had just enough energy to cover his lower extremities with a sheet, but it’s not hard to tell exactly what went on in that bed. He knows there’s blood streaked somewhere, though he distinctly decided not to look for it.

“She told me to bring you a cookie, or some juice,” Lindsey said in a small voice. She’s got a half bottle of OJ in her hands, probably taken from the mixer fridge.

Raylan’s not hungry, he can’t move much, and he hates the way she’s looking at him.

“Do you remember what happened?” she asks.

He works his jaw and tries to sit up a little. “Yes,” he tells her in a clipped tone that makes her flinch, though really, that was not his intention. “And after tonight, we will never be talking about it again.”

“Okay,” she says, taking a breath. “I’ll go get you a glass.”

“There’s Chips Ahoy! in the cupboard,” he calls weakly after her, because really, the girl--who was most definitely not twenty-one, even if she was a goddamn vampire--had drained him of two pints at least and Lindsey makes a noise that she heard him.

He rolls over and tells himself not to think about it too hard.


End file.
